Blue Velvet
by frankielouwho
Summary: BETHYL AU. When Beth auditions for a gig singing at Flanery's Bar, she had no idea the world she's stepping into. Daryl hopes to keep it that way. But when she's the only witness to a murder between the rival mobs, he will do anything in his power to keep her safe. Even if it means flipping on his brother and the empire they have built together.
1. Chapter 1

**Blue Velvet**

**by: FrankieLouWho**

**Disclaimer: Do not own! Not even close.**

**Notes: So, hey guys. Weclome to the world of Walking Dead meets gangster Detroit. Starring all of your favorites in fun and interesting roles. I'm still working on Here We Remain, though it has already started to take a backseat to this story... The muse wants what it wants, I do apologize to those of you that are really interested in the other. I'll try to update both as evenly as I can, but I'm not making any promises! Anyway, on with the fic! Please review if you read and let me know what you think :]**

_Chapter One_

"Here. Found this for you."

Beth Greene glanced up from the coffee she was pouring, eyes landing on the folded up newspaper Andrea had dropped onto the formica counter. It was a blustery, snowy morning in Detroit, and the diner was buzzing with activity. Flashing a quick, harried smile to the hipster guy with big black-framed glasses, Beth returned the coffee pot to the burner and turned her attention to the tall blonde. They'd been coworkers for two years, roommates for the majority of that time too. As Andrea unwound the long, blue-and-silver scarf that Beth had knit her for Christmas the previous winter, she raised her brows and nodded at the paper.

"Seriously. Look."

Rolling her big blue eyes, Beth picked up the damp _Free Press_ and glanced at it. Classified. "If this is your _extremely_ hilarious way of telling me to find a new place to live..." She let her sentence trail off, and heard a huff of laughter from her friend. Two years ago, she had come to Detroit with dreams of granduer. Most of the people she'd known back home had called her crazy, pointing out that the city was in ruins and also the murder capitol of the country. Her father was beside himself with worry, and _still_ was. But this was the heart of Motown, the place where it all began. Beth wanted to immerse herself in the music here, the culture... Find a band to sing with, maybe get famous.

However, her dreams had yet to be recognized. Instead of 'finding a band' she had auditioned with three, and gave up after realizing that she was simply _not_ fitting in. Plus, there was hardly any time - between hunting for a job and a place to live, with her meager savings dwindling, she had been lucky to not wind up on the harsh Detroit streets. The city _was_ dangerous, Beth discovered, but only if you wandered to the wrong places. The day that she had found Nieko's Coney Island, it had been raining. The heavy rainclouds rolled in so quickly, the rain began to fall in harsh sheets, and Beth had ducked into the little cafe. She was caught without an umbrella, and the thin sundress she wore was nearly soaked through.

Andrea had taken one look at her and smirked. Sitting on one of the red vinyl stools at the long Formica bar, Beth was certain she looked like a pitiful drowned kitten, dripping onto the black-and-white tiled floor. But Andrea had been kind, listened to her cry over a slice of pecan pie (which tasted _nothing_ like her mother's, not even _close_) and was sympathetic. She'd found Beth an application, which she assured her was merely a formality, and told her to come back the next day in jeans and a T-shirt and sneakers, and ready to work.

Two years later, Beth was still there. She liked the busy atmosphere, the vastly different people that wandered through the front door. Even Nieko, the ancient old Greek that owned and ran the place, was a comfort to her - in the sense that his hopeless flirtations and winks, as well as the graying mustache and shiny bald head, never changed. She was two years older, with two years of more life experience. She was twenty-one now, and while most people her age were trying to figure out the big meaning of life, finding their soulmates, whatever - Beth was content to sling burgers and hang out with Andrea. It was simple, but that was the way Beth liked it.

Her eyes found the advertisement that Andrea had so kindly circled in red Sharpie. '_Singer Needed - Open Auditions at 2 PM._' There was an address listed, it was a bar downtown, one that Beth had vaguely heard of. She wasn't sure about it, couldn't remember the things she'd heard - but Andrea wouldn't have suggested it, if she didn't think it was safe. She had taken over the role of protective older sister, and it had made Beth's heartache to remember Maggie back home. The two women were very dissimilar in looks, but they were both fiercly protective, and Beth looked up to both in the same fashion. She trusted Andrea deeply, and respected her fully.

"What am I s'posed to do with this?" Beth asked, dropping the paper onto the counter. She put her hands on her hips, ignoring the rude woman at table four, who was rattling the ice in her soda cup loudly.

"Well, first of all, _you're welcome_." Andrea flashed her famous smile, the one that half of their lunch patrons tipped extra for. "Second of all, you'd better get going - you're going to be late, regardless. But it's still worth a shot."

"Andrea - I can't just _go_," Beth protested. "I got open tables and - and I've got nothing to wear! I don't have anything prepared!" She pushed the loose, unruly wisps of blonde curls off her face, following the older woman into the kitchen. Sergei, one of the cooks, was leaning against the prep-station, thumbing through an old paperback book. He cocked an eyebrow at the blondes, before his mouth spread into a wolfish grin.

"Not now, not ever," Andrea told him, wagging her finger. He chuckled and returned his gaze to the book. She turned her eyes to Beth, and began to wrap her apron on and gestured for Beth to held her tie it. "Listen, this is your dream. You remember when you came in here, crying your eyes out and saying you wanted to be a singer? Well, here's your chance. Not only is Flanery's a really classy place, but I know the bouncer. Good guy." She smirked and Beth knew that look very well - either someone she had hooked up with, or someone she _wanted_ to hook up with.

"But if I don't make it -"

"Well, you didn't want to go to begin with, did you?" Andrea quipped. She rolled her hazel eyes and reached to place her hands on Beth's slender shoulders. "C'mon, kid. I've known you a while now, and you're getting complacent. You're givin' up on your dreams. And I can't let that happen. Not when you have so much talent, not when you're such a sweetie. Now, go on. I'll take over. Lizzie will be here at four to help with the dinner rush."

"You really think I'm talented?" Beth asked softly. She peered uncertainly up at Andrea, who grinned at her, before pressing a kiss to the girl's round cheek.

"You know it. Now, go! Seriously, you're going to be so late!" Andrea pushed her out of the kitchen, and Beth couldn't wipe the huge, goofy grin off her grabbing the newspaper, she pulled on her gray pea-coat that she'd found at the GoodWill, slid mittens on her hands and the floppy beanie on her head.

"Good luck!" Andrea called over her shoulder, and Beth waved before ducking out the door. Snow and salt crunched under her Chuck Taylors, and she checked the paper again. The bar wasn't that far away, but she didn't have much time. Hurrying to her beat-up Camry, she hopped behind the wheel and turned the key. Miraculously, the engine turned over on the first try and Beth patted the dashboard affectionately. Other than Andrea and the people at work, her car was her other best friend - she spent enough time in it, and paid enough money to keep it going. Pulling out onto the slushy street, she hit her indicator and headed to the club.

_Oh God_, Beth thought, speeding past the other vehicles and side-streets. She was wearing her _work_ clothing. Old jeans, a modest gray shirt. Her hair was bound in a low ponytail with stray hairs escaping. She barely even had any make-up on. _Crap_.

But she was pulling into the parking lot of the squat building. From the outside, it wasn't much to look at. Tinted windows, an old sign hanging over the door reading, "Flanery's," heavy and worn wooden door that matched the exterior. Parking her car and cutting the engine, Beth glanced into the mirror one last time and sighed. Hopefully, they'd excuse her tardiness and her disheveled appearance. She counted to ten in her head, calming her suddenly frantic breathing, before grabbing her purse and climbing out of her car. She locked the door behind her - never _too_ safe, here in the Murder Mitten.

Snow swirled and stuck her coat as she jogged across the parking lot and up the short steps, then through the front door. Inside, it was warm and surprisingly empty. On stage, a beautiful woman with long, dark hair warbled an old tune that Beth recognized from the old standards albums her mother was fond of. Pulling off her hat, then her gloves, stuffing it all into the pockets of her coat, she weaved her way through the small two-top tables, draped in black linens and topped with votive candles in fancy crystal centerpieces, to the bar.

"Hi," she said, flashing what she hoped was a bright smile to the man behind the counter. He was Asian, with thick dark hair parted to the side and swept over neatly. He wore a crisp white button-down with a skinny black tie, yet managed to _not_ look like a waitstaff extra from some corporate franchise. His expression was not friendly as he gazed at her. "Um, I was hoping to audition -"

"You're late," he said, cutting her off.

"I know, I'm _so_ sorry," Beth replied. "I was at work, I got off as soon as I could - I'm never late, promise." She laid her southern drawl on thickly, having experienced enough angry customers to know that a little Georgia charm could go a long way with this Yankees. "Traffic up here's crazier 'n a June-bug."

Finally, he cracked a grin. "You're lucky," he said, pointing at her. "You get one song, and you go on next."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Beth cried, and the butterflies that erupted in her belly were wild. She slipped off her jacket, folding it over her arm, and subtley checked for any foodstains on her shirt. As the woman on stage finished her song, flashing a triumphant smile, the jitters overwhelmed the excitement. Suddenly, the nightmares she used to have as a child - the ones where she was on stage, under the blinding, hot spotlight, and she opened her mouth to sing in front of a crowded, sold out hall and _nothing came out_ - came flooding back. Her palms began to sweat, and she wiped at her jeans nervously.

It had been a very long time since she had been on stage. Especially solo. Auditioning for bands was one thing - usually, it took place in someone's garage, and the kids were _her_ age and it wasn't always a paying gig. This was totally different than what she was used to. Running a hand over her ponytail, she bit her lip. A woman front of the small stage, dominated mostly by a big, shiny baby-grand piano, called out, "Next!" Beth glanced to the bartender, who nodded at her - well, at least she wouldn't have _too_ much time to worry.

"Give me your stuff," he said, and Beth practically threw her coat and purse at him. Shakily, she headed to the front of the restaurant where the stage was located. There were three short steps and she was on the black-painted floorboards. Luckily, there was no spotlight. Just the dim foot-lights illuminating her. That was more bearable.

"Honey? You even old enough to be in here?" The woman at the end of the stage smiled up at her. She had short, steely-gray hair, and blue eyes that twinkled with amusement. Beth nodded. "Go on then, I suppose." She waved her hand and Beth stepped up to the microphone, adjusting the stand. The woman before her hand been tall and very thin, and Beth was much shorter. Once it was at a comfortable height, she took a deep breath. It was weird to be thrown into this, with no preparation, and no accompanist. But it was much like riding a bike, and Beth found as she opened her mouth, the first syllables of the old song that she knew very well left her throat, that she was comfortable.

Closing her eyes, she pretended that she was alone in the bathroom of her tiny apartment with Andrea. Using her hairbrush in lieu of a mic, she would belt her heart out and make the older woman laugh and clap. This was the same - well, a _little_ different... _"At last my love has come along. My lonely days are over... And life is like a song." _Beth swayed to the music that only she could hear. She slid one hand over the mic and cradled it like a budding flower in the other. Etta James was one of her favorites, and she knew the song like the back of her hand. Putting her southern spin on it was fun, and she finally had the bravery to open her eyes. The woman in front of her was staring, brows furrowed in deep concentration; the bartender's jaw had dropped open in shock. Taking that as a good sign, Beth continued.

_"Oh yeah yeah. You smiled, you smiled. Oh and then the spell was cast. And here was are in heaven for you are mine... At last." _A man was pulling up a seat with the woman in front as Beth finished singing. Beth put on her biggest smile and stepped back from the mic. There was a smattering of applause from the bar, and Beth giggled, giddy, at the bartender. Taking the steps quickly, she came to the little table where the woman was sitting. Her blue eyes sparkled as she gazed at Beth.

"Very nice," she said, then turned her gaze to the man in the seat beside her. Beth took in the man - he was older, with a beard speckled gray, and messy dark hair. He wore a bulky black overcoat, and there was a hardened expression on his face. Blue eyes raked Beth from head to toe, and she felt herself blush under his scrutiny. "What do you think, Daryl?"

"She's all right," he said, in a low tone. Beth immediately bit back her remark - she'd been around Andrea too much, and the sass was beginning to rub off. Instead, she settled for letting the smile drop off her face and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well, I liked her!"

"Thank you, Glenn," the woman said, and Beth sent a smile in the direction of the bar. Glenn was all right in her book. "Why don't you write down your information, and we'll get in touch with you."

"Thanks," Beth said. She wrote her name and phone number on the sheet that the lady indicated, gave her one last hopeful smile, before sidling to the bar to collect her things. Glenn was grinning at her from ear to ear, and she couldn't help but return it. He was one of the friendliest people that she had encountered in the two years since she came to Michigan. He probably made a killing in tips, if this was his personality during a rush.

"Put a good word in for me, will you?" she asked, and he chuckled with a nod.

"Will do. See you around, peach," he said, and Beth nodded as she pulled on her jacket and started for the door. She was stepping back into the flurry of snowflakes when her eyes landed on the man that had been sitting by the stage, the one that gave her such _glowing_ feedback. She couldn't help the glare that she sent him - it was an unconcious reaction.

"You even old enough to be singin' in a bar?" he asked her, and Beth rolled her eyes at the question.

"Would you like to see my ID?" she asked. He smirked at her, nodded, before raising his cigarette to his lips and inhaling. Huffing, Beth dug her wallet out of her purse and flipped it open, showing the laminated pocket where her driver's license was. She thrust it in his face, and his eyes were sky-blue as they gave her a warning look. He took the pink wallet from her hands, studying intently.

"Ya barely even twenty-one," he muttered, and gave her back the wallet.

"Well, unless you're going by a different set of state-issued laws..." Beth drawled, irritation coloring her tone.

"Listen, this is my job. I'm the door man. I'm supposed to make sure no underage kids get in. I ain't _trying_ to be a dick," he added. Beth studied him for a moment, surprised by the quick grin that he gave her. There was something about him that was oddly interesting, like one of those abstract paintings that was nice to look at but she didn't necessarily _understand_. Daryl - that was what the woman had called him, Beth remembered - was much more handsome in the snowy light outside. She could see that he was older, perhaps in his early forties, but the lines around his eyes did nothing to take away from his overall good looks.

It was his surly attitude that did _that_.

"I gotta go," Beth found herself saying.

"You'll get the job," Daryl told her, as she was turning towards her car. She spun on her heel, giving him an incredulous look. "I'll put in a good word - and we all know Glenn liked you."

"Thanks - hey," Beth said, remembering what Andrea had said earlier in the diner. She _knew_ the door guy - unless they had more than one, this had to be the guy. "My friend at Nieko's, she told me to come in here. To audition... She said she knew ya."

"Tall, blonde, legs for days?" he asked, and the corner of Beth's lips lifted in a half-smile. She nodded. "Yup. Andrea, right?"

"The one and only," Beth quipped.

"Tell her I said hi." He nodded, and Beth did too. She waved over her shoulder as she headed towards her car, stomach churning with excitement and nerves. What had begun as an average, boring day had turned into hopefully a life-changing one. If she was to believe Daryl the Doorman, it would be. Settling into her car and turning the engine - twice in one day that it didn't protest - Beth couldn't help but smile. It was a good day, indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Blue Velvet**

**by: FrankieLouWho**

**Dislcaimer: I own nothing in relation to TWD. I wish.**

**Notes: Here is the second installment on my new AU. I hope you guys are prepared for some badass Daryl time. I know I liked it... All of the gun information I got from my Dad. He reads a lot, so I trusted his judgement. I haven't had time to really edit other than reading it a few times, so please excuse any mistakes as I was trying to get this out quicklly. Thank you for reading! Please review!**

Chapter Two

Daryl Dixon watched the little blonde scurry off, ducking against the swirling snowflakes, and get into her car. She was a cute slip of a girl, too young for him... But he wasn't blind, and he wasn't in the habit of lying to himself. He smirked, pitching his cigarette, before rubbing his hands together and slipping back into the warmth of the bar. Flanery's was a classy place, the kind of place where guys wore blazers and women wore low-cut dresses to show of their expensive boob-jobs. Kind of place where a guy could forget where he came from, what he was, after so long. Shaking his head as he slipped off the heavy wool coat, Daryl knew he would never forget. He couldn't.

Carol had moved to the bar, and was sipping her typical glass of Merlot as she read through the applications. Glenn was leaning against the bar on his forearms, an eager expression on his face. Daryl slid into a stool, and Glenn was quick to pour him a whiskey-rocks, setting down a beverage napkin and then the heavy tumbler on top of it. Daryl took a sip, enjoying the fire that burned down his throat. He had always been a whiskey drinker - only liquor he could stand.

"You're seriously considering _not_ chosing the last girl?" Glenn asked, sounding incredulous. "She was the best one out of _all_ of them!"

"She's young," Carol replied, giving him one of her wry looks. "Just because she's cute doesn't mean she can handle the pressure of performing."

"Won't know 'til you give her a shot," Daryl said, gazing at Carol levelly. He knew the woman well - she'd grown up in their neighborhood, was a few years older than Daryl. Merle's age, he guessed, though he wasn't certain. She was very good at maintaining her cold, aloof demeanor, at keeping other's out. But he knew better; she was a softy. The reason she didn't want to pick the girl was obvious - at least, to him. Working at Flanery's was not for the weak of heart, or the loose of lip. There was a lot more to the bar than making drinks and carding kids at the door. Much, _much_ more.

Carol arched an eyebrow at him, surprised, before smiling. "Well, well. An endorsement from Daryl Dixon? What'd she do, blow you in the parking lot?"

"I'm not _that_ fast," Daryl retorted, making her chuckle. Glenn was watching the exchange, an expression of amusement and surprise on his face. These _were_ his higher-up's. Hearing them chat so casually was probably like hearing his parents flirt. "Just give her a chance. Seems like a good kid. People can surprise you."

"Yes," Carol said, frowning at him. "They can, can't they?"

The worst part about winter was the cold, the fact that he couldn't ride his bike. Daryl settled for a sporty little Aston Martin, sleek and black and perfect. It was much nicer than any vehicle he expected to own, but the business was booming. That would be the business of _killing_ people. Heading further downtown, to the offices of one Caesar Martinez, where his mark was waiting, the familar beat of an old song played on the radio. No matter how much anyone teased him, he would never give up listening to the hair-metal bands that he favored in his teen years. Poison blasted and he resisted the urge to head-bang. He didn't have enough time to deal with the crazy hair that would ensue.

Parking in the lot, he pulled open the glove-box and pulled out his Woodsman .22, twisted on the silencer, and slipped it into the shoulder holster he wore beneath his coat. It was awkward to wear the gun with the silencer attached, but he wouldn't have enough time to put it all together when he got into the office. Sighing, he glanced at the clock. It was nearly four PM - the perfect time to die.

The office was cheap, one belonging to an ambulance chaser whose moronic commericals played between hip-hop songs on 95.5, the local station. Martinez might have been a good person, might have had a wife and a family, kids. A dog. But these were thinks Daryl tried not to take into consideration when he did his job. Yes, he was a doorman, but that was a front - much like the bar itself. It was a cover to filter all the money through, so that their illegitimate dealings wouldn't be discovered by the feds. His _real_ job description was assasin, hired killer - he was an angel of death, only less holy. Sighing, he studied the chipped painted words on the door that lead into the building. Without another thought, he pulled it open and stepped inside.

The things that Daryl _did_ think about was Martinez's weaknesses. Liquor, drugs, prostitutes. All things that his boss had hands in. Martinez had managed to find them a big new buyer, someone that was taking their Columbian assets of their hands and for double the price they were expecting. He would have kept his life, if not for the fact that he was a greedy little worm. Threatening to run to the police, running his mouth about what _assholes_ the Dixon clan was, and how he was going to switch his allegiance to someone that would _appreciate_ him.

This was a very stupid thing to do. Daryl had to wonder how these people managed to go to college, get degrees, start businesses... How they managed to be so successful in the straight world. He wasn't the kind of man that was book smart - but Daryl knew how to keep himself alive, and he wasn't doing so bad money-wise, either.

"Hello," the receptionist said, glancing up from her phone for an instant before looking back to her phone. People and their devices. Daryl wanted to roll his eyes at her disrespect, but instead asked to see Mr. Martinez. She lazily pressed a finger to the intercom, telling him that he had a client.

"Who is it?" Martinez's voice barked through the speaker.

"Dunno." She leaned over, peering through the glass door, and said, "Driving an Aston Martin."

"Yes, send him right in." Daryl scoffed, shaking his head, but the young woman gave a jerk of her head towards the narrow, wood-panneled hallway, and he took the direction. Surely, Caesar Martinez was thinking of his bank account, eager to pad it. The holidays _were_ only a few weeks away. Boots shuffling over the tacky orange carpet - this office was in a sore need of remodel - Daryl found his way to the office. He entered, shutting the door behind him quietly. His eyes found the tall, Mexican man who grinned at him behind a big wooden desk. Daryl nodded.

"Caesar Martinez. Take a seat. What can I do for you?" He spread his hands over the desk top. A family photo gazed at Daryl, and he took a few steps forward before placing the picture face down. Quickly, ignoring the confused look on the man's face, he grabbed the man's shoulder and retrieved his pistol from the holster. Silencer pressed against the crown of his thinning dark hair, Daryl took a breath.

"This could have been avoided," he said in a deadly quiet voice.

"What are you - you can't do this -"

"Should have thought of that before you started messing with mobsters," Daryl said, letting irritation seep into his tone. "If you would have kept your mouth shut, if you wouldn't have been greedy, this whole thing could have ended a lot differently."

"My wife - my kids," Martinez said. "Please, please don't do this." His breathing hitched - the poor son of a bitch was crying. Shaking his head, Daryl pulled the trigger. Nice thing about the .22 was that it wasn't messy. Didn't exit. Just bounced around inside, tearing everything up. Retrieving a handkerchief, he wiped the gun clean and slipped it back into it's holster. He exited the building, the receptionist not bothering to look up. When the cops came, she probably wouldn't even remember his face.

Sometimes, technology _was _his friend.

"Hey there," Beth said, brightening as two of her favorite customers bustled into the restaurant. It was early on a Sunday morning, two days after her audition at Flanery's, and she had yet to hear anything. If they wanted to keep her on her toes, they were certainly doing a good job. But all thoughts of the bar were pushed out of her mind as Rick and Carl slid onto their stools at the counter. Every Sunday morning, after Rick's wife made awful, barely edible pancakes, the two would make their way to the diner for some _real_ food. Beth thought it was sweet, them keeping this little secret and pretending to love her food no matter what. Some day, she hoped to have men as sweet as them in her life. Though her cooking would be undoubtably better.

"Mornin' Beth," Carl said, giving her a big grin. He seemed to grow an inch every week, and she was amazed when his voice started to drop, losing it's high, young quality. Rick was dressed down, wearing jeans and his jacket, his dark graying hair cut neat. The first few times Beth met the man, he was dressed up in his policeman blues, looking sharp. She had swooned and blushed at every smile he gave her, but that had passed. Especially when he brought Lori in, and Beth realized she couldn't hold a candle to the brunette.

"Carl," she said in reply. "You guys want your usual?"

"Extra bacon," Rick agreed, and she set to putting their order in and getting their drinks around. She was mixing Carl's chocolate milk when she felt her phone vibrate in the pocket of her apron. Nieko had yet to make an appearance, and Sergei wasn't going to rat her out for taking the call. Flipping open her phone, the number unknown, she pressed it to her ear and said, "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Beth?" the voice was polite but deep and somewhat familiar.

"Yes," she said, stirring the chocolate syrup into the milk.

"This is Glenn - um, the bartender from Flanery's?"

"Hi!" she said again, this time much brighter.

"Hi. Uh, sorry it's so early, but Carol wanted me to call and tell you that if you want the job, it's yours."

Beth didn't have the forethought to cover the mouthpiece of the phone before she shrieked in delight. Full on jumping up and down, high-pitched squeals. Sergei peeked from around the grill, half-grinning at her. She was so excited, she could have kissed the almost-toothless man.

"Thank you," she gushed, breathless. "Seriously, it means so much!"

Glenn chuckled. "It's cool. Kind of expected that kind of reaction. Listen, you need to come in either tonight or Monday - go over your set list, rehearse with our pianist, costuming stuff. At least, that's what Carol suggested. If I were you, I'd get here sooner, rather than later. They really prefer punctuality."

"Noted. Well, I'm at work, so I should let you go..." She trailed off.

"All right. See you soon, blondie."

"Thanks, Glenn." She hung up and flipped her phone shut, pocketing again, before putting the glass of chocolate milk on a tray with the coffee and creamer for Rick. She was glowing, cheeks flushed pink and eyes glittering with excitement, when she returned to the counter.

"Was that you screaming back there?" Carl asked, giving her teasing look.

"_Yes_, actually," Beth replied, setting his drink down. "I auditioned for a singing gig and I got it!" The giggle that bubbled out of her chest was completely involuntary, and she knew she was acting silly.

"Congratulations," Rick said, stirring creamer into his coffee. "Where at? I'll have to come see you."

"This place called Flanery's," she replied. She didn't miss the way Rick's face dropped, paled slightly. "It's really nice, actually - I wasn't sure from the outside, it looks kind of old. But it was really fancy inside. Everyone was pretty cool, too." She tucked an errant lock of blonde behind her ear, wishing she could decipher the expression on the police officer's face. He cast an anxious look at Carl, who was watching Beth with unrestrained cheer, before flicking his blue gaze back to her.

"That place can be sort of... Dangerous," Rick said, and the serious tone and expression sobered Beth's joy by volumes. "Lot of untrustworthy people go there, work there. I wouldn't want you to get mixed up into any trouble, Beth."

The image of herself in handcuffs flashed in her mind, and Beth laughed. She shook her head. "You don't have to worry about me, _officer_," she said, giving him a flippant grin. "I've managed to stay out of trouble for twenty-one years. I'm not gonna start lookin' for it now." She batted her eyelashes, getting a smile out of him, before turning back into the kitchen to grab their order.

Briefly, she thought about what Rick said. She didn't get any bad feelings about the place - yeah, it was kind of nondescrip on the outside, blended into the scenery... But that only added to it's charm. It wasn't pretentious, like some of the outlandish clubs that opened up. It wasn't trying to be more than what it was. However, he was a cop - he would know better than her if something was 'dangerous.' Shaking the worries off, she grabbed their plates and arranged them on her arms, balancing. She'd be careful, that's all. It was exactly as she told Rick - the last thing she would do was search out any illicit activity.

"Scrambled eggs, toast, bacon _and_ sausage," she said, setting the warm plate in front of Carl. "Steak and eggs, over easy." Rick gave her an obliging smile. "Get ya anythin' else?"

"I think we're good," Rick said, holding her gaze a beat longer than was necessary. Pasting on a smile, she nodded, and disappeared to check on her other tables. Throwing herself into work, she quickly forgot about Rick's warning. The day flew by, and it was only six o'clock when she finally clocked out. Enough time to get home and change into something nice, do her hair and makeup. Unbidden, the image of Daryl the Doorman popped into her head. Smiling, Beth headed into the blustery Michigan cold.


	3. Chapter 3

**Blue Velvet**

**by: FrankieLouWho**

**Rating: M**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! I swear!**

**Notes: Sorry for the delay everyone. I had a death in the family, and things haven't been coming as easily to me. Hopefully soon I'll get back into the swing of things... For now, this is all I have to offer. I hope you enjoy!**

Chapter Three

Beth was nervous as she entered the club for the second time. Her hands shook as she pulled open the door, and she prayed that she looked _older_ this time - having everyone comment on her young appearance was an annoyance she was hoping to avoid. Unwinding her scarf and shaking out her long blonde curls, she glanced around. There were a few patrons this time, couples looking intimate at the small tables. Jazz played softly around them, and Beth felt herself relax as Glenn waved to her from the bar. She made her way over to him, pulling off her jacket and revealing the fancy, black-lace top she wore over dark skinny jeans that hugged her curves nicely. Knee-high, slouchy black boots finished the outfit, and silver drop earrings sparkled in her lobes. Andrea had instructed her to wear smokey eye-shadow and red lipstick - more than her typical look, but the finished effect was exactly what she was going for.

"Wow," Glenn said, eyebrows jumping high on his forehead. "You look... Different."

"Thanks?" Beth asked, giggling.

"Grab a seat," he instructed. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Is that really a good idea?" she asked. Drinking on her first day? Not really the impression she was going for...

"Trust me, it'll be weirder if you _don't_." He smirked.

"I guess I'll have a Jack on the rocks." She didn't miss the surprised look on his face, but he didn't comment before turning to fix the drink. He put the tumbler in front of her, smiling. Beth took a sip, shivering as the fire went down her throat. She wasn't much of a drinker, but she always had a thing for whiskey. It was such a _manly_ drink, but it was her favorite.

"Sounded pretty excited, earlier," Glenn said, smoothing a hand over his tie. Beth blushed.

"I moved to Detroit to get into music," she admitted, before taking another sip. "I wanted to come up here, get into a good soul band. Maybe make an album or something." She shrugged, rolling her big blue eyes. "Two years later, this is my first actual gig performing _anywhere_."

"Where are you from?" Glenn asked, leaning against the polished mahogany bar. Beth peered over his shoulder, to the mirror that panneled the wall behind him. Between the liquor bottles and the empty glasses on shelves, her reflection stared back at her. She also had a decent view of the door, which flung open and the dark, mysterious figure of Daryl (she decided to drop the Doorman part, deciding it lessened the whole hot and intriguing aspect). His eyes flicked immediately to her, the back of her blonde head, and Beth felt her heart begin to race.

Aside from the excitement of actually landing the job, Beth had been pleased at the idea of seeing Daryl again. The more she thought about him, the more flustered she grew. She couldn't put her finger on it - she had never dated older men, had never really been attracted to them. But something about him captured her imagination, and she found herself replaying their conversation over and over the past two days.

She watched in the mirror as he approached the bar, on her right.

"Hey," Glenn greeted. "Usual?"

Daryl nodded and pulled off his coat, then slid into the stool next to her's. Beth twisted and arched an eyebrow at him, raising her tumbler. She drained the last of her drink, and twitched an axious smile at him.

"I'm old enough, remember?" she asked, when he stared at her for long moments without speaking. He seemed to remember himself, and a smirk graced his face. Beth wondered if that was the closest he got to an actual smile. It wasn't bad, she ammended.

"Yeah, I remember." He sounded tired, but amused.

"You were right," she said, and he gave her a puzzled look. "I got the job, just like you said I would."

"Right," he agreed. He picked up the drink as soon as Glenn gave it to him, swigging it down in one gulp. He captured an ice cube between his lips, sucking it into his mouth. Beth shivered as she gazed at his mouth. How the hell was that so seductive? She was losing her mind. She needed another drink.

"So... How is the ID checking going? Anyone slip by you?" _Oh my God, shut up._ She blushed at her terrible attempt at small talk - he was going to think she was an idiot. Shaking her head, she glanced at Glenn and motioned for another drink. Reluctantly, she met Daryl's eyes. The penetrating blue nearly took her breath away.

"Not yet," he replied. However, instead of that half-smile thing he usually did, Beth was astounded to find an actual grin on his face. He was laughing at her - but her mind was still stuck on seeing the neat, straight white teeth behind his lips for the first time. She found herself wanting to lick them.

"Sorry, I'm just nervous, about the _job_," she was quick to specify. Not about sitting so close to him, or the smile he was giving her, or the fact that his eyes were so blue and dark they reminded her of blue velvet. It was insane - she was insane. Insanely attracted to _him_. In two years, she hadn't felt this way towards a single person. Perhaps it was a sign. Or, maybe, she was simply comfortable enough in this new world to allow herself to be attracted... Or, she was a twenty-one year old virgin, and her body was telling her it was time to take the plunge.

"You'll be good," Daryl said. He plucked another ice cube out of his glass, sliding it between his lips slowly. Beth felt her jaw hang open as she watched. His tongue snaked out, flicking over it, before sucking it between his lips and tucking it in his cheek. Beth resisted the urge to moan at the deliciously sinful sight. She flicked her eyes up to his, blushing as she realized he was watching her watching _him_. Oh God, did he do that on purpose? With a shaking hand, Beth lifted her whiskey to her lips and took a slow swig, then cleared her throat.

"Glenn said I was supposed to come and talk about rehearsals." She needed to leave Daryl's presence immediately, or else she would melt into a lusty puddle on this very bar stool.

"Yeah, I'm not your guy," Daryl said, shaking his head. "You'll want to talk to Carol 'bout that, or Morgan. He's out piano man."

Beth nodded, chewing her lip nervously. Why did he have to put her so on edge?

"Hey, Merle just called up asking for you," Glenn said, interrupting their conversation. Beth was relieved - at the rate she was downing whiskey, she would be drunk before she started. And while Glenn claimed drinking on the job was encouraged, she didn't want to be three-sheets to the wind before she began.

"Great," Daryl said darkly, before standing and grabbing his coat. "Later," he said, nodding at Glenn. The look he gave Beth was a mixture of amusement and something else, something darker, before he disappeared into the darkness of the back of the bar.

"Don't mind Daryl," Glenn told her, waving a dismissive hand. "He's a good guy, but he's got a lot going on."

"A lot of _what_ going on?" Beth asked, curiously.

"Just work stuff." Glenn quickly spun around, grabbing a glass off the shelf and polishing it with a rag. He didn't realize that Beth could see the 'I-said-too-much' look on his face in the mirror.

"Being a door man can't be _that_ stressful," Beth joked, watching his reflection closely. She didn't miss the way his shoulders sagged, defeated, before he turned back around.

"Look, theres a lot of - _other_ stuff that goes on at Flanery's," he said, lowering his voice. Beth leaned forward, struggling to understand him. "I can't tell you what, because I respect the people I work for and I like my job too much. I make really good money, and you will too. All you need to do is keep your head down, and keep your mouth shut. That's the most valuable advice that I could ever give you."

Beth nodded, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She remembered Rick earlier in the day, his warning - perhaps she _should _have taken it.

"Hey, baby brother," Merle greeted cheerfully. In the basement office of the bar, he could usually be found drinking or snorting his product. It was bad taste, inbibing what you sold, but Daryl knew better to say anything about it. Merle Dixon was a tough son of a bitch, a bastard, stone-cold. Daryl had grown up with it, however. He was better than anyone at handling the gruff man. "Read about our friend in the paper. Shame." Daryl grunted, knowing that was Merle's roundabout way of patting him on the back.

"It is," Daryl replied.

"Anyway, just wanted to give you that bonus we talked about." Merle flashed him a toothy grin, and slid a thick manilla envelope across the table. Nodding, Daryl picked it up and peeked inside. Bundles of cash - exactly what he expected. "Heard you had a hand in picking our new song bird - Carol says she's a youngin'. You ain't into kids these days, are ya?"

"Hell no," Daryl said, frowning. Merle cackled, throwing his head back.

"Hope not. Don't need ya registered on the sex offender's list." Merle sighed loudly, leaning back in the roller-chair and folding his arms behind his head. There was something wrong with them - maybe more Merle than Daryl - but the Dixon boys had definitely not come out right. How could they be normal - their father was a drunk, their momma was a prostitute, and the family had fallen apart before Daryl turned ten. His memories of before, when his parents were together (kind of) and they all were living together under one roof, were hazy, colored with pain and hurting. Merle must have gotten the brunt of it before Daryl was born, and maybe that was what made him the way he was. What made _Daryl_ the cold blooded killer he was.

He didn't feel bad for all of the blood on his hands. The lives he had ended. He did what he had to. What he needed to do to keep their business going. To keep them _alive_.

"Anyway, Carol says she needs some costumes. Figured you could take her out, get 'er a couple things. Since you like her so much." Merle's grin was malicious. There was humor in his eyes, but that was the only pleasant thing on his face. He wasn't a good looking man, and the women he had - some were beautiful, even - were never very nice. They were with him for the money, the power, everything that the Dixon name went hand-in-hand with. Daryl could have had plenty of women, probably a lot more and a lot better than the company his brother kept. But that wasn't his style.

"All right," Daryl agreed. After their moment at the bar, he wasn't sure how to feel about the girl. Beth Greene. She was gorgeous, adorable, and the way her cheeks turned pink when she was embarrassed was particularly endearing. It had been a very long time since he made a woman blush, and it was so very sweet. Finding someone so innocent, so unjaded to the events around them, was refreshing. But the very thing that attracted him to her was the same thing that made him want to keep his distance. She was was too good for him. More than he deserved. But he couldn't shake the image of her, eyes on his lips as she licked her own, probably without even realizing what she was doing.

And now he got to take her shopping. The joys never ended.

"Good work," Merle added, as Daryl stood to leave the dingey little office. "I'll let you know if there any other jobs need to be done."

Daryl nodded at his brother, then turned and slipped out the door. He needed another drink.

Three hours later, Beth had scheduled her rehearsal time between shifts, decided on a set - she would be open to taking requests, too - and Daryl had informed her that he would be taking her shopping, preferably tomorrow morning, for a few dresses to wear while she performed. All at the expense of Flanery's. It was like something out of a movie, and Beth's head was spinning with excitement and plans. Her first set was Friday evening, starting at eight. She was glad that the schedule at Nieko's was so flexible, and that she and the other waitresses were always happy to cover each other's shifts. After two years, and never calling in, Beth figured she had some favors to cash in.

"I suppose I'll see you tomorrow," she was saying, glancing up at Daryl. She was exhausted from her morning shift, the nervous jitters before she arrived at Flanery's. Now, after the drinks and the planning, she was ready to take off her heels, slip into pajamas, and curl up in her bed. She covered a yawn, blinking at Daryl apologetically.

"Let me walk you to your car," Daryl said, and she agreed. It was dark out, and even though she felt safe here, there was no telling who or what was lurking in the darking lot after sundown. It was the murder capitol of the country.

"So I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked. They reached her car, and Beth unlocked the door and leaned in to start the engine and warm it up. Straightening, she let the wind whip her hair across her face.

"Ten sharp," Daryl agreed. Carefully, he extended a hand to brush the hair off her face, and she felt a trail of fire left from his fingertips. Gasping at the sensation, her eyes cut to his, startled. Daryl snatched his hand back quickly, frowning. Beth glanced away, clearing her throat.

"Thanks, by the way. For everything," she added. "I still can't believe I got the job - I know it's not a Grammy or anything..." She shrugged, giving him a small smile. "But it's still a big deal to me."

Daryl didn't reply, simply nodded. "Night," she said, sliding into the driver's seat. She fastened her belt and tried not to watch him as she pulled out of the parking lot. She wasn't sure how, or really _why_, but her heart was pounding in her chest. Shaking her head, she turned into the street, pretending not to notice his figure lingering in the parking lot, watching her leave.


	4. Chapter 4

**Blue Velvet**

**by: FrankieLouWho**

**Rating: M**

**Disclaimer: Here, have another update. I wrote these chapters about a month ago, and haven't had the energy or time to worry about them. Now that I'm updating, I'm going to have to start working on this again, which is good! But I'm also nervous about how it's going to go. Hopefully, I'll find this muse again and everything will go smoothly... Anyway, hope you enjoy. I'd love to hear what you think! Feedback keeps me typing :)**

Chapter Four

Shopping. With a woman.

Daryl sighed a rubbed a hand over his eyes as Beth stepped into the boutique. It was all very modern, clean white walls that jutted out at odd angles, hardwood floors in blonde wood that shone, big windows overlooking the busy intersection. It was a place that Carol had suggested, with one of a kind dresses that cost nearly as much as his rent. But the expression on the tiny blonde's face as she stepped inside, eyes going wide as saucers and her mouth dropping open, had been worth it. It seemed like every damn reaction out of her was something he wanted to capture.

"Daryl," she said, shrinking into his side. The backs of their hands brushed, and he jerked away quickly. "This place - it's too much."

"It's where we were sent," Daryl pointed out. He watched as her blue eyes flitted across the racks, the over-styled mannequins. She seemed just as out of place as _he_ did. The thought made him feel fractionally better. Smirking, he nudged her further into the shop, where a bored looking girl gave them a lazy once-over before clacking over loudly in her too-high stilletos.

"Hello," she said curtly. "Can I... help you with anything?" She raised a hand and examined her nails for a moment, before flicking her bored gaze back at them. Beth's cheeks were rapidly reddening, and her lips were pressed into a firm line. Sighing inwardly, Daryl put on his smoothest smile and gestured to Beth.

"We're looking for a few gowns," he said, and that seemed to snap Beth out of her mood. "She's going to be the new singer at Flanery's. We need something nice."

Realizing that the two were there to drop some serious money, the shop-girl perked up and gave them a much warmer smile. "Great. What size are you? I'm guessing a four. Maybe a two. I'll pick a few things out... Why don't you head to our fitting room?" She took Beth's arm, leading her to the back of the store. She sent him a nervous look over her shoulder, and he could only shrug, smirking at her. Wasn't _his_ problem.

But then he realized he was standing in a show-room, surrounded by women's clothing. With a cough, he quickly followed. Thankfully, the dressing room had one of those rooms off to the side, probably where other boyfriends usually waited for their girls to try on dresses then come out and show them off. Wait, _other boyfriends_? Daryl flinched when he realized his line of thoughts. Boyfriend was definitely not what he was.

Collapsing into one of the uncomfortable but fancy looking sofas, he jammed his hands into his pockets and sighed. Shopping, with girls, was usually a long and trying process. They tried things on, they looked in the mirror, they modeled them... The last part, Daryl could get behind, especially if it was revealing or tight. But wasn't he aggressively trying _not_ to think about Beth that way? It was like Merle knew his inner war, put them together as some kind of wicked punishment.

It was almost twenty minutes later when Beth finally peeked out of the dressing room. "It's really short," she said, hiding her body behind the door. Daryl rolled his eyes and gestured for her to come out. Blushing, she stepped out, and he found himself sitting up straighter in his seat. 'Short' was definitely the term that sprang into his mind.

It was a strapless white number, hugging her small curves deliciously. The skin on her chest was creamy and pale, and matched the skin on her long, toned legs. Daryl almost gulped as he drank them in, trying pointedly _not_ to imagine them wrapped around his waist. But it was really fucking difficult with them on display like that. The skirt hit only a few inches under her bottom, and she yanked the hem self-conciously as he stared at her.

"Well? Do you like it?" she asked, and Daryl snapped back into reality.

"Yes," he said, nodding slowly. "It's very... Um.." He couldn't find a word that wasn't sinful and filthy. "Nice. It's nice."

"O-kay," Beth said, giving him a confused smile. "I guess I'll go try on another one." She slipped back into the dressing room, door clicking softly behind her. Daryl sagged in his seat, his mind racing. Where the hell did she get off, looking so beautiful? She was petite, a tiny little thing, but somehow her legs managed to go on for days. Her skin, her figure, it all seemed to resonate with him. He realized that he was becoming aroused, thinking of her young, capable body. He needed a cigarette, and a shot. Maybe a double.

"I actually really like this," Beth said, pulling open the door and stepping out, much more confident. Daryl was better prepared, but that didn't stop his hands from clenching into fists, unseen in his jacket pockets. Beth looked stunning in red. The dress was a light fabric, skimming the floor, and it was sleeveless like the first. The bodice clung to her figure, and Daryl saw the hard points of her nipples pressing the fabric. _Fuck._

"Uh-huh," he nodded, letting his eyes rove over her body. She did a little spin, giggling as the dress floated over the floor.

"Only one more," she added, before disappearing again. He was going to have a heart attack. Daryl was certain. He waited patiently until she reappeared, and the last dress was the only one to suck the breath from his lungs. It was like a punch to the gut, and Daryl couldn't help his jaw from hanging open.

It was a deep, dark blue, Lake Eerie on a stormy day. The corset body held her in and pushed her up, the small amount of cleavage making his mouth water and his body stir. The skirt flirted with her legs, a slit that went up the thigh revealing more of her milky flesh. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Beth smiled at him softly, cheeks pink.

"You're beautiful." The words left his mouth before Daryl could think about it. Shaking his head, he tried to find the words to explain what he meant - but he couldn't. Beth flushed pleasantly, a small smile playing on her pink lips.

"Thank you." She spun to the mirror, examining herself and saying nothing else. Daryl was blushing too, but he just cleared his throat and waited for the awkward tension to lift. "Are we going to get all three?" The restrained expression of hopefulness made Daryl smile, but only on the inside. What was it about this little blonde that made his heart clench? He was allowing himself to become soft around her. _That_ needed to stop. Immediately.

"Yes," Daryl said. "Go on and change while I get the bill." He stood and left the lounge before she could reply, trudging to the desk where the shop-girl was waiting. He pulled the black Am Ex card out of his wallet and handed it over, ignoring the wide-eyed look of surprise she gave him.

"All three?" she asked. He nodded.

"Just have them delivered here," Daryl instructed, writing down the bar's address. A quick glance to his watch revealed that only an hour had gone by - much shorter than he had anticipated. Thankful, he took Beth's arm and hurried out of the boutique, ready to get on with the rest of his day. He opened the passenger side door of the Aston Martin, letting Beth slip in, before securely it shut and hurrying to the drivers' side. He didn't miss the appreciative look in Beth's eyes as she slid a hand over the soft leather seat.

"I like your car," she said, smiling softly. Daryl smirked in return.

"I do too."

"Kinda nice, for a doorman," Beth went on. For some reason, his pulse jumped in his throat, and Daryl shot her a suspicious look. "I just mean, you must get paid _really_ well to afford it."

"I save. I have a few investments," he added, which was total bullshit. Yes, he did save, but the stock thing was stupid. Why risk his money, especially when the market was so up and down? Seemed like a waste. But it seemed to sate her curiosity for the moment, and Beth relaxed into her seat. In the ensuing silence, Daryl heard her stomach growl loudly, and chuckled. "You wanna stop and get lunch somewhere?"

"If it's not too much trouble..." She gave him a shy look, and Daryl couldn't help but return it. He was going to hell for a lot of things - might as well enjoy this while he could.

"I've never eaten here," Beth said as they sat in one of the leather booths. The little French bistro that Daryl suggested was in the heart of downtown, very classy, and Beth felt underdressed in her jeans and Chuck Taylors. Daryl, as always, looked impeccable in one of his suits, all clean lines and dark fabric. When he shirked his jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his black button-down up, Beth felt her mouth go dry. Thankfully, she was already seated, as her knees turned to jelly. His strong shoulders were wide, narrowing down to his waist and hips. Beth wanted to wrench his shirt out of the waist-band of his pants and slide her hands over the muscular planes of his stomach and chest - not that she'd seen. But the bunch of the muscles in his arms and shoulders were enough indication for her.

"It's good," was all Daryl said as he sat across from her. Beth nodded, biting her lip. She hadn't been out to eat with a man in a really long time, since before she moved to Michigan. Briefly, she thought about her high school boyfriend, Jimmy, and their many excursions to the Dairy Queen for chocolate malted shakes. This was very different - Daryl ordered a whiskey-rocks from the waitress, and Beth seconded him. After the moment in the dressing room, when he called her beautiful and then ran away, Beth's nerves were frazzled. He called her beautiful, she thanked him, and then he told her to go and change. Inside of the mirrored dressing room, Beth had taken a deep breath and ignored her reflection - she didn't need to see her red face to know she was blushing.

He called her beautiful and now they were having lunch together. Beth had been so nervous about shopping that she skipped breakfast. Andrea had already left for work, and wasn't there to chastise her eating habits. She'd been too focused on spending time _alone_ with Daryl that her stomach probably would have rejected anything she tried to choke down, anyway.

"Woulda figured you for a sex on the beach kind of girl," Daryl said. Beth sputtered on the whiskey she sipped, wiping furiously at her chin and giving him a wide-eyed look.

"W-what?"

"Your drink," Daryl said, voice filled with amusement. Beth blushed, realizing that he was _not_ talking about her sexual preferances. Feeling herself blush crimson, she took another drink and the liquor soothed her throat.

"Why, because I'm a girl?" she managed to ask a few moments later, once she regained her composure.

"No, because you're a baby." Daryl's wry smile combined with her words made Beth stiffen. He wasn't looking at her like a _baby_ in the dressing room of that boutique, only a short while ago.

"I'm not a baby," Beth sniffed. "I'm a grown woman. You saw my driver's license, remember?" She arched an eyebrow and glanced away from him, not wanting to see whatever stupid look was on his handsome face. He was infuriating.

"I've got a few years on you," Daryl replied, his tone dark. Beth refused to look at him still, settling for watching their waitress bustle towards them with a big, cheesy grin on her face. Beth recognized it from working in the diner - the same one she wore, when she was bored and had no other tables to wait on, trying her hardest to be as friendly as possible.

"Are you two ready to order?" the woman asked, pulling out her book, pen poised and ready to write.

"Yes. We'll have two filet mignon, medium rare. House dressing for the salads," Daryl said, handing over the menus. The woman nodded before scurrying off. Beth gave Daryl an incredulous look, laughing in disbelief.

"What if I'm a vegetarian?" she asked, and he smirked.

"I can tell, you're not," Daryl said, shrugging. "Trust me, it's the best thing on the menu. And I'm treating, so you'll do as your told." Beth resisted the urge to pout, but still crossed her arms over her chest and 'hmphed.' He simply watched her, lips pursed as he fought a smile. Beth _really_ didn't want him to smile, because that meant _she_ would smile, and she was trying hard to stay angry with him.

After three minutes of sitting in silence, Beth sighed and uncrossed her arms, flicking her eyes to Daryl. The corner of his lips lifted in victory, and she rolled her big blue eyes. "Just beacuse I don't want to sit in silence does _not_ mean this is over."

"Whatever you say, princess." He shrugged and leaned back in the booth, slinging an arm over the back and sipping on his whiskey. Beth smiled at the nickname, as sexist and agist as it was. Deciding to see if she could rile him up, a bit of revenge she gave him a sweet-as-sugar smile.

"Do you have a girlfriend, Daryl?" She watched as he shifted uncomfortably, frowning.

"No." His blue eyes seemed to darken.

"Why not?" Beth asked, leaning forward eagerly. It might have been like pulling teeth - but the information she was gathering was fascinating. She couldn't get a read on him - one minute he was calling her beautiful, taking her out for lunch, and the next he was treating her like a child, acting aloof and distant. Beth found that while she was attracted to him, puzzling together the mysterious man was half of her interest in him.

Daryl arched an eyebrow at her, giving her a look, and she smiled. "You're a handsome man, Daryl. You drive a nice car, you're employed, and I'm guessing that you don't live in your mother's basement. That makes your pretty high stock, these days."

"Well, what if I told you that I don't have a girlfriend because _I don't want one_?" He tossed back the rest of his whiskey, dropping the glass on the table with a clunk. Beth kept her expression neutral, not letting the noise startle her.

"I'd have to call you a liar." Beth kept her face calm as Daryl's eyes flashed, angrily, and he leaned forward in the booth.

"You better watch yourself, little girl," he said, quiet and low. "You're sweet and cute but you can't just say whatever the hell you want. Some people don't take too kindly to that." Beth sobered at his tone, his expression - _he_ certainly wasn't joking. There were moments, however brief, when this happened and it seemed as though some inner darkness was peeking through. Beth wanted to know more about that - what it meant, where it came from. But there was no easy way of going about it.

"Sorry. I was just teasing," Beth said, glancing down at her hands. She sighed quietly and startled when the waitress slid a small house salad in front of her, and looked up with a weak but polite smile.

"I know," he said. "But sometimes, other people that you're going to meet - they _won't_ know. And you have to be careful, Beth." Her name coming from his lips was positively sinful, and Beth shivered. Their eyes met over their salads and drinks, and the dark blue pools that were so intriguing to her seemed to peer right into her soul. Beth broke the gaze, focused on her salad, and found herself simultaneously frightened and thrilled. What did that say about _her_?


	5. Chapter 5

**Blue Velvet**

**by: FrankieLouWho**

**Rating: M**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! I'm trying though. To own things.**

**Notes: I guess the muse found me! I was surprised to sit down and this all just poured out. The response to all of my updates has been so amazing and uplifting. Really, us Bethylers are so lucky to be part of such a friendly and amazing ship. Everyone is so lovely, and I'm so grateful to all of you that review/favorite/follow and find me on tumblr to tell me nice things. Which, by the way, if you'd like to be my friend on TUMBLR, I'm idreamoffrankie - find me and lets be friends!**

**Please keep the reviews and feedback up! It makes me type faster, I swear! Thank you again, I hope you enjoy this installment!**

Chapter Five

Friday morning, Beth was a nervous wreck. She woke with a start, instantly awake and sitting up in bed. A glance to her alarm revealed it was early, only six-thirty, and she cursed her biological clock for keeping to her breakfast shift hours. The first day she could sleep in this week, and it didn't look like she would get to. With a sigh, she pushed back the heavy quilt on her bed, slipped her feet into slippers, and padded into the kitchen.

Andrea was up, though she seemed much groggier than Beth. Her blonde curls were falling out of a banana clip as she sipped her coffee, giving a weak smile in greeting.

"Morning," Beth said, pouring herself a mug of coffee and flopping onto one of the chairs at their little kitchen table. She'd never drank coffee before living with Andrea - now, she couldn't imagine beginning her day without a mug. It was heavenly. Beth inhaled the rich aroma before taking a sip, ignoring the burn.

"I had the weirdest dream last night," Andrea said, voice gravelly. "You were singing at the diner. Officer Hottie and his kid were there." She chuckled, and Beth gave her a big smile at the nickname. It was a joke among the servers - he and his partner, Shane Walsh, were the McDreamy and McSteamy of their real lives. Except there was something about Shane that through Beth off - Andrea thought the barely-contained aggression in the big man was attractive. She could have him, Beth thought.

"Feels weird not to be going into work this morning," Beth said after a few thoughtful moments.

"Nervous?" Andrea asked.

"Yeah," Beth admitted, nodding. "What if I get up there and choke? Like nothing comes out?" Her big blue eyes were full of anxiety as she gazed at her friend and roommate. Andrea gave her a soft smile, straightening in the chair and leaning forward.

"You're going to do great. I promise," she said, reaching for Beth's hand. "You are very talented. Everyone is going to love you. And if they don't, we'll kick their asses." As the smaller blonde giggled, Andrea squeezed her hand reassuringly and let it go. The two finished their coffee and had breakfast, chatting about the diner, the people they knew, what Beth would wear. Her stomach would fill with butterflies, thinking about getting on stage and singing in front of all those strangers tonight. _Maybe it'll be slow_, she thought, and didn't know why the thought didn't bring her any hope.

She remembered then that Daryl would be there, watching, and felt a steady heat settle over her body. The man had plagued her thoughts all week long; Beth would find herself in the middle of some random task, pouring coffee or wiping down menus, brushing her teeth or folding laundry, and his piercing blue gaze would pop into her mind. She found herself thinking about how the black shirt had looked on him at lunch, how his broad shoulders filled the material, the muscles in his forearm tensing and flexing. Sometimes, if she was alone, Beth would let her mind wander... She found herself thinking about what those strong arms, the long, calloused fingers on his big hands, were capable of.

It had been a long time since Beth thought about a man this much. She had entertained a tiny crush on Rick when he first started coming to the diner, before she met Lori and Carl and realized that even if he _would_ have strayed, she wouldn't want to be the other woman. The homewrecker. That simply wasn't her style. But Daryl was unattached - even if he claimed to not want a relationship. Maybe she didn't, either. Maybe she needed to take a leaf out of Andrea's book, and keep things casual.

She was in the bathroom, her hair sectioned off as she wrapped it around the small-barreled curling iron, when she remembered that Daryl and Andrea knew each other. Hadn't that been what Andrea said when she told her about the audition? She knew the _bouncer_. And Daryl had used the term 'legs for days' when describing Andrea. Frowning at her reflection, Beth wondered how well they really knew each other... Neither were the cuddly, commitment types - immediately, Beth realized they had probably had sex. For some reason, her stomach clenched and rolled, nauseous.

If he was partial to Andrea's type - tall, blonde, gorgeous, sexy, _funny_ - how in the world would she compare? Beth was small, slender - nothing like Andrea's womanly curves. She felt like a kid sister all over again.

The last thing she needed to worry about right then was what Daryl was thinking of her, and his shared history with Andrea. Shaking her head as though it would get rid of the thoughts, she unwrapped a blonde lock from the curling iron, watching the length bounce in a loose corkskrew. Focusing on getting ready for tonight, she shut all thoughts of bouncers and friends out of her mind and started humming to distract herself. It worked, for a minute.

Daryl arrived early to the bar. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was excited to see Beth sing. Hearing her the other day, she sounded like an angel. Seeing her in any of those dresses from the other day, all dolled-up in the spotlight, giving him every excuse to stare at her out-right without seeming like a creep... Daryl was more than a little riled up. Glenn poured him a whiskey-rocks and gave him a knowing smile, which made the bouncer scowl. Didn't want to get teased by some kid half his age.

Around six, the crowd started to gather. There were a lot of people in the town with money, doctors, lawyers, politicians, athletes. Flanery's was popular for a multitude of reasons, to varying types of people. Those in the _know_ were aware of the mob ties within the bar, they knew who Merle Dixon was and what he did. A lot of customers were associates and wives. Friday nights were always for the wives. Couples filled up the two tops, candles flickering on the linen table-tops as they sipped martinis and old-fashioneds. Glenn and T-Dog, the other bartender, were whipping up drinks and chatting idley with customers that lined the bar, and the server, a short Latina woman named Karen, was delivering drinks as quickly as possible, big smile plastered on her face.

At quarter to seven, Beth breezed through the door. Daryl straightened up, eyes flicking from her curly blonde locks to her black Doc Martens. Even in jeans and her coat, she looked gorgeous. But she was wearing a bit heavier make up than he would have liked - Daryl reminded himself she was wearing stage make-up. She flashed him a tight grin, revealing her nerves, and he felt himself softening into a smile.

"Head downstairs. Your outfits are in the dressing room," he told her, nodding towards the stairway around the corner from the bar. Nodding, she slipped off without a word. Daryl couldn't help but watch her ass as she walked away. His mouth went dry.

Swiping a hand over his beard, Daryl sidled to the end of the bar and set his empty glass down. T-Dog swooped it up and refilled him quickly. Glenn had been watching Beth as well, and winced when he realized Daryl had caught him.

"Don't worry," the Asian kid said, throwing his hands up innocently. "I wasn't like, _looking-looking_, ya know."

"Whatever," Daryl said, after too long to be casual. He threw in a shrug for good measure as he returned to his post by the door. Inside, he was boiling. Didn't want anyone else to be looking at her like that - but she was a beautiful girl, he reasoned. He would be blind or stupid to believe that someone else wouldn't notice her in the same way that he did. Taking a gulp of the amber liquor, he willed himself to calm down.

Beth held in the squeal as she read the sheet of paper taped to the frosted glass door. _Her name_. It was her dressing room. She turned the handle and stepped inside, glowing. It wasn't anything special - just a small room with a vanity, the bulbs burning bright, and a small couch tucked into one corner. A rolling-rack held her garment bags, and Beth was quick to shut the door and start pulling off her jacket, toeing off her boots. She had a pair of pumps in her bag, black peep-toe with a slight platform on the front, making her appear taller and her legs longer, more toned. They were a perfect match for the red dress, the same color, and she had picked them specifically for that dress. She had decided that the red number would make a good impression, compliment her on stage. Especially with her hair cascading over her bare shoulders, falling half-way down her back.

Beth felt like a different person as she slipped into her dress. It was the nicest thing she'd ever worn, and she felt a million times prettier than she had going to prom - which, up until this point, was the most beautiful she had ever felt in her life. It was different, now. As she zipped herself into the gown, she felt like a woman. Mature, sexy. The red dress gave her confidence Beth hadn't know she posessed. Studying herself in the mirror, Beth smiled.

There was a knock at the door, and Beth called out, "Come in!" As she straightened and fluffed her curls. She hadn't been expecting the middle-aged, balding man to step through the door. She nearly gasped in surprise.

"Well, well. Miss Beth Greene." He said her name slowly, and she felt herself flush for some reason. He looked rough, the kind of man that had seen a lot. A phrase her father used, "Ten miles of hard road," popped into her mind. Especially when she noticed that his right arm was severed, and instead of a nub or a prostetic, he had a hook. She shivered as the metal glinted in the soft lighting.

"Hi," she said, unsure and her voice high. She unconciously took a step back as he stepped into the room, eyes roving over her figure in the red dress. Beth suddenly felt way underdressed, almost naked, under his gaze.

"Hope you sing as good as you look, girl," the man said, licking his lips. Beth was beginning to tremble, nervous and a little frightened. This man was _not_ friendly, but in a different way. The salacious gaze made her heart pound in her chest, but she didn't want to show weakness in front of him. She didn't want to give him anything he could take advantage of.

"Who are you?" she asked, feeling her spine go rigid as she held herself up. She lifted her chin defiantly, praying that her eyes revealed none of the fear inside of her.

"Merle Dixon," he said, extending his good hand. "The owner of this fine establishment. Your _boss_." He grinned, but it was more of a sneer, as Beth daintily shook his hand. She didn't know how to act - her gut was telling her to run far, far away from this guy, but her mind was holding her firmly in place. He was well dressed in a nice suit, one that was obviously tailored to him, and expensive black shoes that nearly reflected Beth back in their shine.

"Nice to meet you," Beth lied, forcing a smile.

"Well, it's about that time," Merle said, eyes lingering on her chest before flicking up to her face. There was amusement in those dark depths, like he knew that Beth was uncomfortable and it was funny to him. Nodding, Beth followed him out of the dressing room, ringing her hands nervously. She was going to overdose from adrenoline, it pumped quickly through her veins and was making her pulse thud, deafeningly loud, in her ears. As she ascended the steps to the dining room, she sent a silent prayer to God, hoping he would give her the strength and bravery she would need to get through this. No matter how much she practiced, it was never the same as performing in front of an audience.

Merle lead her to the stage, and Beth tried not to see beyond the bright stage-lights. He introduced her, and there was a smattering of applause as she smiled and stepped up to the mic. Morgan was sitting at the black baby grand, dressed to the nines in a black tuxedo, freshly shaven. He gave her an encouraging smile and she nodded, listening as he counted off the first song of the night.

Taking a deep breath, she swayed to the tune Morgan began. She raised her eyes, searching without thinking for the piercing blue gaze she knew would be on her. When their eyes locked, Beth was shocked at the ferocity of his gaze. Surprisingly, it did nothing to make her feel _worse_. Instead, she drew from it, opened her mouth, and began to sing.

It was almost midnight when Beth's set finished for the night. The crowd had thinned out some, but when she finally left the stage, she was swarmed at the bar. Daryl stood against the back wall beside the door, watching protectively as she sipped a whiskey-rocks - same fucking drink as him - and smiled, blushed, and chatted with her new adoring fans. She was gorgeous, glowing with the attention and the high of being on stage. But throughout the night, Beth managed to find his eyes, give him a smile that he _knew_ was somehow just for him. It made something loosen in his chest, and he breathed easier as he listened to her sing.

She'd been great up there. It was obvious, from the opening number, that she was meant to be performing. Her voice was husky and sweet, crooning when it needed to be, strong when the lyrics were particularly moving. She sang standards mostly, old songs that everyone knew. Sinatra, Aretha, Motown classics that suited her voice. Daryl was entranced with her, couldn't tear his eyes away. As she mingled at the bar, he took the time to slip outside and light up a cigarette. He hadn't gone out while she was singing - not willing to admit that he didn't want to miss a moment.

It was bitter cold, though it felt good against his heated cheeks. Daryl was thinking about Beth and how screwed he was, how badly he wanted her. Had been a long time since a woman affected him like this, and it was overwhelming. Beth was different, so unlike any woman he had ever met before. He found himself drawn to her, without wanting to be. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to listen to her tell stories about her childhood, wanted to feel her body pressed against him as he held her. Of course, he wanted to feel her sexually, too, wanted to know what sounds she would make as her body was wracked with pleasure. He imagined those big blue eyes, hooded with lust and heated with pleasure. He groaned quietly as he stirred within his slacks.

Pitching his cigarette, he headed back inside and frowned when he found that she was no longer at the bar. Glancing around, deciding that things were mellow enough to disappear for a while, Daryl headed down the old stairwell to the basement. In the harsh flourescent, he saw the door to her dressing room cracked. Huffing a nervous breath, Daryl knocked on the door before toeing it open. Beth was bent over, round ass facing him, as she slipped off her heels.

She glanced over her shoulder, blonde hair sliding like a golden waterfall over her chest. The big grin that lit up her face was impossible not to return.

"Hey," she said, softly. She was a little raspy, but it suited her. Daryl liked it very much.

"Did good," he said, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his arms. She blushed at the compliment and dropped her shoes into her bag. When she reached her side and started pulling the zipper of her dress, Daryl cleared his throat and straightened up. His eyes flew to the cieling, wanting to give her respect but also wanting desperately to see more of that pale flesh.

"Shoot," Beth muttered. "Can you help me? This zipper is stuck."

Daryl stepped into the room, a little uncertain. He watched her yank the fabric and groan in frustration. His hands trembled, just slightly, as he reached for her. Beth lifted her arm, pulling it over her chest, and Daryl held the red material taute as he carefully pulled the zipper. It slid smoothly, and he glanced up at her. Beth gave him a little devious smirk, and he felt the breath slip from his lungs. But he continued to pull it, all the way down to her hip where it ended, and her creamy porcelain skin peeked at him teasingly.

"Thanks," she whispered. She turned, tipping her head back slightly to peer up at him. Daryl felt like she had an invisible leash on him, pulling him in closer, until they were only a few scant inches away from each other. Anxiously, he cleared his throat but resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably.

"Daryl," Beth murmured, and he bit back a groan. His name sounded sinful coming from her sweet little mouth. It felt like the whole world had slipped into slow motion, and he watched her small hand shift to hold her dress up, and the other reached for him, cupping the stubble on his cheeks gingerly before sliding down and back to tangle in his hair. Suddenly, she was on her tip-toes, leaning into him and tugging him down at the same time. Her lips found his, blue eyes slipping shut, and she was kissing him.

It was the lightest, feather-soft kiss he had ever experienced, but somehow it was the sexiest damn thing Daryl had ever felt. He could smell the sweet, sugar-vanilla scent of her skin, could sense the apprehension in her body as she bravely made the first move. He should have pulled away. He should have broken it off, told her that _this_ could never work, would never work, but he didn't. Instead, Daryl tilted his head and felt his hands tangle in her long, thick hair, anchoring Beth to him tightly. The soft mewl as he changed the pressure, sliding his tongue over her lips, was all the encouragement he needed.

With newly ignited passion, Daryl kissed her with all he had. Any thoughts of what they should or shouldn't be doing flew from his mind as her taste bloomed in his mouth, making him groan and clutch her tighter. As her little fingers pulled his hair and her slight body pressed against his own, Daryl realized that it was too late anyway. He'd been drawn to this girl the first moment he laid eyes on her. He was a goner.


End file.
